would undoubtedly have proved to him one of the | joyment of health, he would undoubtedly have reseverest shocks he had ever experienced. Such,ceived her with the greatest respect and affection, however, was the influence of his melancholy de- and the conversation between them, would have pression, that he never afterwards adverted to the event, even in the most distant way, nor did he even make the slightest inquiries respecting her funeral. A more striking proof of the intense anguish of his own sufferings cannot possibly be given. Dreadful, indeed, must have been those feelings that could have produced an insensibility so great in his tender mind, for the loss of such a friend!

been equally pleasing to both parties; such, however, was his melancholy depression, that he seemed not to derive any pleasure from the visit, and on no occasion could he be prevailed upon to converse with his distinguished visitor with any apparent pleasure.

from a different cause, yet with an effect as difficult to remove as blindness itself."

Mr. Johnson again removed from Mundesley to Dereham, towards the end of October, and pursuing their journey, on this occasion, with himself, Miss Perowne, and Cowper, in the post-chaise, they were overturned. Cowper discovered no particular alarm on the occasion, and through the blessing of Providence, they all escaped unhurt.

While residing at Mundesley, in October, 1798, Cowper felt himself so far relieved from his depressive malady as to undertake, without solicitation, to In the summer of 1797, Cowper's health appear- write to Lady Hesketh. The following extract ed in some measure to improve, and in the follow- from this letter, will show the severity of his mental ing September, at the earnest entreaty of his kins- anguish, even at that period:-"You describe deman, he again resumed the revisal of his Homer; lightful scenes, but you describe them to one, who, and, notwithstanding the severity of his mental an- if he even saw them, could receive no delight from guish, he persevered in it, with some occasional in- them, who has a faint recollection, and so faint as terruption, till the eighth of May, 1799, on which to be like an almost forgotten dream, that once he day he completed the work. It was evidently ow- was susceptible of pleasure from such causes. The ing to the rare talents exerted by Mr. Johnson on country that you have had in prospect, has been al the mind of Cowper, that he was induced to bring ways famed for its beauties; but the wretch who this great work to a successful close. And it would can derive no gratification from a view of nature, have been exceedingly difficult, if not utterly im- even under the disadvantage of her most ordinary possible, to have found an individual who could, dress, will have no eyes to admire her in any. In with so much tenderness, have exerted an influence one day-in one minute, I should rather have said so beneficial over the distressed mind of the poet.she became an universal blank to me, and though He was, however, indefatigable in his efforts to divert his mind from the melancholy depression which spread its pernicious influence over his soul. And, during the whole of the summer of 1798, he endeavored, by frequent change of scene, sometimes residing for a week or two at Mundesley, and then returning to Dereham, to restore the mind of his revered relative to its proper tone. And though he had not the satisfaction to see his efforts crowned with complete success, yet he was pleased to per- As soon as Cowper had finished the revisal of ceive them prove in some degree, at least, benefi- his Homer, Mr. Johnson laid before him the papers cial to the interesting sufferer. In his sketch of containing the commencement of his projected poCowper's life, published in the last edition of the em-The Four Ages. He, however, declined unpoet's works, he "records it as a subject of much dertaking it, as a work far too important for him to gratitude, that a merciful providence should again attempt in his present situation. Several other litehave appointed his afflicted relative to the employ-rary projects, of easier accomplishment, were then ment alluded to, as, more than any thing else, it di- suggested to him by his kinsman, who was aware verted his mind from a contemplation of its mise- of the great benefit he had derived from employries, and seemed to extend his breathing, which was ment, and was seriously apprehensive that the want at other times short, to a depth of respiration more of it would add to his depression: all of them, howcompatible with ease." ever, were objected to by the poet, who at length reThe happy means pursued by Mr. Johnson to in-plied, that he had just thought of six Latin verses, duce Cowper to complete the revisal of his Homer, and if he could do any thing, it must be in pursuing and its successful result, ought not to go unrecorded. something of that description. He, however, gratiHe thus relates it in the excellent sketch above re-fied his friends by occasionally employing the powferred to:-" His kinsman resolved, if it were possi-ers of his astonishing mind, which still remained in ble, to reinstate him in the revisal of his Homer. One morning, therefore, after breakfast, in the month of September, 1797, he placed the commentaries on the table one by one, namely, Villoison, Barnes, and Clarke, opening them all, together with the poet's translation, at the place where he had left off a twelvemonth before; but, talking with him as he paced the room, upon a very different subject, namely, the impossibility of the things befalling him, which his imagination had represented; when, as his companion had wished, Cowper said to him, ' And are you sure that I shall be here till the book you are reading is finished.' Quite sure, replied his kinsman, and that you will also be here to complete the revisal of your Homer, pointing to the books, if you will resume it to-day. As he repeated these words, he left the room, rejoicing in the well-known token of their having sunk deep into the poet's mind, namely, his seating himself on the sofa, taking up one of the books, and saying, in a low and plaintive voice, 'I may as well do this, for I can do nothing else.""

In July, 1798, the Dowager Lady Spencer paid the afflicted poet a visit. Had he been in the en

full vigor, in the composition of some short original poems. In this way he produced the poem entitled Montes Glaciales, founded upon an incident, which he had heard read from a Norwich paper, several months previous; to which, at the time, owing to his depression, he appeared to pay no attention. This poem he afterwards, at the request of Miss Perowne, translated into Latin. Translation was his principal amusement; sometimes from Latin and Greek into English, and occasionally from English into Latin. In this way he translated several of Gay's Fables, and communicated to them, in their new dress, all that ease and vivacity which they have in the original. Thus elegantly employed, he continued, with some intermissions, almost to the close of his life.

The last original poem he composed was entitled The Cast-away, and was founded upon an incident, related in Anson's Voyage, of a mariner who was washed overboard in the Atlantic, and lost, which he remembered to have read in that work many years ago, and which, according to the following stanzas, selected from it, he appears to have regarded as an illustration of his own case:—

his departing relative, commending his soul to that | sure they have never been in print, though he rather gracious Saviour, whom, in the fulness of mental inclines to think such is the case. health, he had delighted to honor. As he put aside the curtains, Cowper opened his eyes, but closed them again without speaking, and breathed as usual. On Monday he was much worse; though, towards the close of the day, he revived sufficiently to take a little refreshment. The two following days he evidently continued to sink rapidly. He revived a little on Thursday, but, in the course of the night, he appeared exceedingly exhausted: some refreshment was presented to him by Miss Perowne, but, owing to a persuasion that nothing could afford him relief, though without any apparent impression that the hand of death was already upon him, he mildly rejected the cordial with these words, the last he was heard to utter-"What can it signify?”

cheerful, and his whole deportment was the most polite and graceful, especially to females, towards whom he conducted himself, on all occasions, with the strictest delicacy and propriety.

much accustomed to the style and manner of others, it is almost impossible to avoid it, and we imitate, in spite of ourselves, just in the same proportion as we admire." Cowper's mode of expressing his thoughts is entirely Much as Cowper was admired by those who knew original: his blank verse is not the blank verse of Milhim only as a writer, or as an occasional correspondent, ton, or of any other poet. His numbers, his pauses, his he was infinitely more esteemed by his more intimate diction, are all of his own growth, without transcription, friends; indeed, the more intimately he was known, the and without imitation. If he thinks in a peculiar train, more he was beloved and revered. Nor was this affec-it is always as a man of genius, and what is better still, tionate attachment so much the result of his brilliant as a man of ardent and unaffected piety. His predeces talents, as it was of the real goodness of his disposition, sors had circumscribed themselves, both in the choice and gentleness of his conduct. and management of their subjects, by the observance of Cowper was emphatically, in the strictest and most a limited number of models, who were thought to have scriptural sense of the term, a good man. His good-exhausted all the legitimate resources of the art. "But ness, however, was not the result of mere effort, uncon- Cowper," says a great modern critic, "at once ventured nected with Christian principles, nor did it arise from to cross this enchanted circle, and thus regained the the absence of those evil dispositions of which all have natural liberty of invention, and walked abroad in the reason, more or less, to complain; on the contrary, all open field of observation as freely as those by whom it his writings prove that he felt and deplored the existence was originally trodden. He passed from the imitation of evil affections, and was only able to suppress them of poets to the imitation of nature, and ventured boldly by a cordial reception of the gospel of Christ, and the upon the representation of objects that none before him diligent use of those means enforced under that pure had imagined could be employed in poetic imagery. In and self-denying dispensation. Nor was the goodness the ordinary occupations, occurrences, and duties of doof Cowper a mere negative goodness, inducing him only mestic life, he found a multitude of subjects for ridicule to avoid doing evil; it is evident, from many passages, and reflection, for pathetic and picturesque description, both from his poetic and prose productions, that he ever for moral declamation and devotional rapture, that looked upon his talents, not as his own, but as belong- would have been looked upon with disdain or despair by ing to Him from whom he had received them. Under all his predecessors. He took as wide a range in lanthe influence of this impression, all his best and most guage too, as in matter; and shaking off the tawdry enimportant_original productions were unquestionably cumbrance of that poetical diction which had nearly rewritten. Desirous of communicating to his fellow-men duced poetry to a skilful collection of a set of appropriatthe same invaluable benefits which he had himself re- ed phrases, he made no scruple to set down in verse ceived from the simple yet sublime truths of Christia- every expression that would have been admitted in nity, and incapable of attempting it in any other way prose; and to take advantage of all the varieties and than that of becoming an author, he took up his pen changes of which our language is susceptible." and produced those unrivalled poems, which, while they It has been justly remarked, "that between the poetry delight the mere literary reader for their elegance, of Cowper and that of Dryden and Pope, and some of beauty, and sublimity, are no less interesting to the their successors, there is an immense difference. It Christian for the accurate and striking delineations of would be easy to show how little he owed to his immereal religion, with which they abound. As long as the diate forerunners, and how much his immediate followEnglish language exists, they will most eagerly beers have been indebted to him. All the cant phrases, sought after, both by the scholar and by the Christian, all the technicalities of the former school, he utterly Cowper was warmly attached to the religion of the threw away; and by his rejection of them, they became established church, in which he had been trained up, obsolete. He boldly adopted cadences of verse unatand which, like his friend Mr. Newton, he calmly and tempted before, which, though frequently uncouth, and deliberately preferred to any other. His attachment, sometimes scarcely reducible to rhyme, were not selhowever, was not that of the narrow-minded bigot dom ingeniously significant, and signally energetic. He which blinds the mind to the excellencies of every other feared not to employ colloquial, philosophical, judicial religious community; on the contrary, it was the at-idioms, and forms of argument and illustration, which tachment of the firm and steady friend of religious liber- enlarged the vocabulary of poetical terms, less by recurty, in the most liberal sense of the term. Of a sectarian ring to obsolete ones, than by hazardous, and generally spirit he was ever the open and avowed opponent. He happy innovations of his own invention, which have sincerely and very highly respected the conscientious of since become dignified by usage; but which Pope and all parties. In one of his letters to Mr. Newton, advert- his imitators durst not have touched. The eminent ading to a passage in his writings that was likely to ex- venturous revivers of English poetry, about thirty years pose him to the charge of illiberality, he thus writes, ago, Southey, Wordsworth, and Coleridge, in their When I wrote the passage in question, I was not at all blank verse, trod directly in the steps of Cowper; and, aware of any impropriety in it. I am however, glad you in their early productions at least, were each in a meahave condemned it; and though I do not feel as if I sure what he had made them. Cowper may be legiti could presently supply its place, shall be willing to at- mately styled the father of this triumvirate, who are, in tempt the task, whatever labor it may cost me; and truth, the living fathers of an innumerable company of rejoice that it will not be in the power of the critics, modern poets, whom no ingenuity can well classify and whatever else they may charge me with, to accuse me arrange." of bigotry, or a design to make a certain denomination The poetry of Cowper is in the highest degree deservodious at the hazard of the public peace. I had rathering the honorable appellation of Christian poetry. He my book should be burnt, than a single line guilty of consecrated his muse to the service of that pure and such tendency should escape me," self-denying religion, taught by Christ and his apostles. In this respect his poems differed from the productions of any writers that had then appeared, with the excep tion of Milton and Young. Both these individuals, though they wrote on religious subjects, yet in all probability wrote principally for fame; with Cowper, however, the desire of doing good predominated over every other feeling; and the hope of emolument, nay, even the love of fame itself, was looked upon as subordinate The productions of Cowper were eminently and en- to this great object, the last to which poets generally tirely his own; he had neither borrowed from, nor imi-pay any consideration. To YOUNG, Cowper was evitated any one. He copied from none, either as to his subjects, or the manner of treating them. All was the creation of his own inventive genius. Adverting to this circumstance, in one of his letters, he thus writes:-"I reckon it among my principal advantages as a composer of verses, that I have not read an English poet these thirteen years, and but one these twenty years. Imitation even of the best models is my aversion; it is a servile and mechanical trick, that has enabled many to usurp the name of author, who could not have written at all, if they had not written upon the pattern of some original. But when the ear and the taste have been

Cowper's attainments as a scholar were highly respectable; he was master of four languages, besides his own: Greek, Latin, Italian, and French; and though his reading was by no means so extensive as that of some, it was turned to better account, as he was a most thoughtful and attentive reader, and it was undoubtedly amply sufficient for every purpose, with a genius so brilliant, and a mind so original as his.

dently superior, in every thing that constitutes real poetic excellence: and equal to MILTON in the ease and elegance of his compositions, and in the vivacity and beauty of his imagery, though seldom, and perhaps never, rising to that majestic sublimity, to which the author of Paradise Lost sometimes soared, and in which he stands unrivalled among modern, if not among ancient poets. Milton's matchless poem is a most sublime description of the great facts of the Christian system every line of it fills the reader with surprise. Hurried on through a profusion of imagery splendid and grand, and never inelegant, tawdry, or ungraceful, the mind be

comes astonished, and is much more powerfully affected than the heart. We look in vain for those touching appeals to the affections with which Cowper's poetry abounds, which come home to the bosoms and hearts of all.

"Poet and Saint, to him is justly given,

was the first to show that poetry may be made the handmaid to religion. When he gave to the world the productions of his unrivalled pen, they saw, indeed, -"a bard all fire,

The two most sacred names of earth and heaven." In the productions of Milton and Young, there is not much of practical, and still less of experimental, piety. They confined themselves chiefly to the theory of religion. Cowper, on the contrary, whose views of the great leading truths of Christianity were equally, if not more comprehensive, describes, with unequalled simplicity and beauty, those less splendid, but not less useful, parts of religion, which his predecessors had left almost untouched: hence the superiority of his muse to theirs in these respects. No uninspired orator ever so happily and so strikingly described the operations of Divine grace upon the human soul. The gospel had come home to him, not in word only, but in demonstration of the Spirit, and in power. He not only possessed a compre-a solitary instance of the rejection of God and of the hensive knowledge of the Christian system, which enabled him, whenever he had occasion for it, to describe and illustrate, with all the force and beauty of poetic enchantment, that solid foundation on which the Christian builds his hopes, but he had himself felt the astonishing efficacy of these truths on the heart, when truly and cordially received. This accounts for the unrivalled felicity with which he describes the happy influence of Christianity in all cases where it is rightly embraced, unless, as in his own case, its influence be prevented by some unaccountable bodily distemper. Treating the great peculiarities of the Christian system-the depravity of inan--the necessity of regeneration-the efficacy of the atonement access to God, through the Divine Spiritjustification by faith, with others of a like kind, not merely as subjects of inquiry, but as things which had been to him matters of actual experience, it is no wonder that his muse sometimes carried him to a depth of Christian feeling, unsung, and even unattempted before. As he himself, in his poem on Charity, beautifully sings"When one that holds communion with the skies Has fill'd his urn, where these pure waters rise, And once more mingles with us meaner things, 'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings; Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide,

That tells us whence his treasures are supplied." Cowper," as Mr. Hayley justly observes, "accomplished as a poet, the sublimest object of poetic ambition he has dissipated the general prejudice that held it hardly possible for a modern author to succeed in sacred poetry. He has proved that verse and devotion are natural allies. He has shown that true poetical genius cannot be more honorably or more delightfully employed than in diffusing through the heart and mind of inan a filial affection for his Maker, with a firm and cheerful trust in his word. He has sung in a strain, in some degree at least equal to the great subject, the blessed advent of the Messiah; and perhaps it will not be saying too much, to assert that his poetry will have no inconsiderable influence in preparing the world for the cordial reception of all the rich blessings which this event was intended to introduce."

Up to the period when Cowper's productions were given to the world, it was foolishly imagined impossible successfully to employ the graces and beauties of poetry on the side of virtue. A great modern critic had inconsiderately declared that "contemplative piety cannot be poetical." Had he asserted only, that it had very rarely been so, the assertion would not have been unjust. It would, indeed, have coincided with the views entertained by Cowper himself; for, of his predecessors' productions, with few exceptions, no one could have formed a more correct opinion, as will appear by the following lines:

"Pity religion has so seldom found

A skilful guide into poetic ground!

The flowers would spring where'er she deigned to stray,
And every muse attend her in her way.

Virtue indeed meets many a rhyming friend,
And many a compliment politely penned;

But unattired in that becoming vest

Religion weaves for her, and half undressed,
Stands in the desert, shivering and forlorn,"
A wintry figure, like a withered thorn."

This censure, severely as it may fall on most of Cowper's predecessors, is not unjust. His muse, however,

Touched with a coal from heaven, assume the lyre, And tell the world, still kindling as he sung, With more than mortal music on his tongue, That he who died below, and reigns above, Inspires the song, and that his name was love." Cowper's religious sentiments were undoubtedly Calvinistic, and though his views of divine truth were generally unexceptionable, they were sometimes rather strongly tinged with the peculiarities of that system. On no occasion, however, that comes within our recollection, do we find him speaking of the character of God in such terms as would lead any, who were sincerely desirous of approaching Him in the way of his own appointment, to doubt of gracious reception at his hands. His own case, indeed, must be excepted, as his melancholy depression ever led him to regard himself as reversal of his decree. It could seldom, if ever, be inferred from any of his representations, that he thought the Divine Being, by the mere excercise of his sovereignty, continued any of his creatures, except, indeed, it were himself, in a state of suffering in the present life, or placed them beyond the means of escaping from misery in the future. His views of the atonement, and of the infinite extent of its efficacy, were such as led him, whenever he had occasion to advert to it, to represent it truly, as a solid ground of hope and comfort, to every converted sinner, whatever might have been his character. He felt an entire conviction that he whose infinite compassion had prompted him to make provision for the restoration of fallen man to his favor, intended it to be universally beneficial; and that the perverseness and obstinacy of men were the only reasons why it was not so. That he should have regarded his own case as an exception, and should, consequently, have passed the greater part of his life in the bitterness of despair, is a difficulty which we are persuaded will, in the present life, for ever remain unaccounted for. To assert, as some have done, on no other foundation than that of mere opinion, that had he not been religious he would never have been melancholy, is utterly at variance with all the leading facts of his history. To every well regulated mind, it will be abundantly evident, that, whatever reasons may be assigned for the affecting pe culiarity of his case, the deep concern he felt for religion will appear clearly to have been much more likely to could never have been the cause. On the contrary, it become the best preventive, as, in fact, the events of his life prove it to have been, though, owing to some unaccountable organic conformation, much less completely than might have been hoped.

friendship, or had ever formed more correct conceptions
No person was ever more alive to the benefits of real
of its obligations and delights. His inimitable stanzas,
on this most interesting subject, which are perhaps
superior to any thing that has ever been written upon
it, prove incontestibly that he understood what were its
through life shows that he felt the full force of that
indispensable prerequisites, and his whole conduct
friendship which he so admirably described. It is difficult
to make extracts from a poem, every line of which is
selves the pleasure of presenting our readers with the
almost alike excellent: we cannot, however, deny our-
following admirable lines:

Who hopes a friend, should have a heart
Himself, well furnished for the part,
And ready on occasion,
To show the virtue that he seeks;
For 'tis a union that bespeaks
A just reciprocation.

A man renowned for repartee
Will seldom scruple to make free

With friendship's finest feeling;
Will thrust a dagger at your breast,
And tell you 'twas a special jest,
By way of balm for healing.
Beware of tattlers! keep your ear
Close stopt against the tales they bear,
Fruits of their own invention!
The separation of chief friends,
Is what their business most intends,
Their sport is your dissension.